Title: Taking the initiative
Fandom: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Author: Ceindreadh
Type of Story: one-shot
Characters: Lucien Blake, Jean Beazley, Matthew Lawson, Danny Parks
Rating: 15
Summary: Set pre S1. Blake has some decisions to make after his father's death
Word count: ~ 3,200
Disclaimer. I don't own the characters, I'm only borrowing them, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Blake sipped from his tea as he surveyed the crowded room.

His father's house was full of his father's friends and his father's colleagues, and there was scarcely a soul there that Blake could put a name to. Oh there were a few familiar faces all right. Cec the barman from the club was there, moving a bit slower than he had been thirty years ago, but then, who wasn't. There were a few of his mother's friends as well, some of whom Blake had been quite surprised to find still alive after all this time.

There were some names he'd recognized. Names which still resonated after thirty years, Patrick Tyneman for one. But for the most part, Blake didn't really *know* any of the people currently drinking tea and eating sandwiches in his father's house.

"My house now, I suppose," thought Blake. "Along with the furnishings, the practice and Dad's old car." Well, it wouldn't be his for too long. Now that the funeral was over, Blake could turn his attentions to the future. The practice would be closed of course. He'd have to find out what other doctors were in the area, see if one or more of them could be prevailed upon to take over the patient list. Then it would just be a matter of transferring the files, tidying up the house and putting everything on the market, lock stock and stethoscope. A few weeks, a few months at the most to transfer titles and Blake would be able to shake the dust of Ballarat off his feet once more.

"Doctor Blake, so sorry about your father." Blake didn't recognize the couple, but he guessed they had probably been his father's patients and he smiled warmly at them, said a few words that he didn't remember five minutes later and listened as they reminisced about how good a man his father had been.

This was the worst of it, he thought, as he listened to interminable conversations about Ballarat and his father. Blake had been doing his best to avoid as many of them as possible, and he only wished that he could have avoided this side of things. But Jean had insisted that it was what his father would have wanted, and given that she'd spent the last ten odd years as his housekeeper, Blake had bowed to her superior, or at least more recent knowledge of the man. He'd tried to suggest booking a room at a hotel in town instead of hosting at the house, but again he'd been overruled. "Jean, I just don't want to have to make more work for you with baking and cleaning up after everyone."

Jean however had insisted that it was only right and proper to host the gathering in the house. "This was his house; these are his friends and colleagues. They deserve the opportunity to give him a final goodbye here."

Blake saw Jean over by the kitchen, a plate of sandwiches in her hands and he smiled involuntarily. She had been a tower of strength this past week or so. By all accounts she'd also been a loyal and devoted housekeeper/receptionist to his father as well. Blake felt a pang of guilt as he watched her move expertly through the crowd, being the perfect hostess. She was going to be out of job now, and out of a home once the house was sold. It was a shame, but Blake resolved to give her a good bonus, a few month's wages, enough to give her something to live on for a while until she could find another job.

"Can I get you anything, Doctor Blake?"

Blake hadn't noticed Danny approach and almost spilled his tea in surprise. "No. Thank you Danny," said Blake. "I'm quite all right." He looked around the room. "Your Aunt Jean has certainly done my old man proud."

"Too right there," said Danny. "She was up half the night baking cakes and making sandwiches. Even roped me to do the washing up!"

"Yes, thank you for that, Danny."

"Well I'd best be off now," said Danny, teapot in hand as he moved through the crowd filling cups as he went. It took him a while, but he eventually made his way to the other side of the room where Chief Superintendent Lawson was standing, equally as isolated from the main crowd as Blake had been.

"Would you like some tea, Sir?" asked Danny.

"Thank you, Parks," said Lawson, holding out his cup. "Saw you talking to Blake over there. He say anything about his plans?"

Danny shook his head, "Not sure he's made any. Probably hasn't had time to yet. I mean the Doc, senior that is. I know he was an old bloke, but it was still all pretty sudden, him passing like that."

"It always is," said Lawson, gaze fixed on Blake. He sipped his tea automatically. "Well don't just stand there, Parks. There's empty teacups need filling."

"On it Boss," said Danny as he moved on.

Lawson instinctively scanned the room as he sipped his tea. He never really felt overly comfortable at these kinds of social gatherings. Or more to the point, people never tended to feel overly comfortable around him. There was always an invisible barrier between the police and civilians. Even the most honest and law abiding of people could be wary and more guarded when talking to a police officer, even socially. Matters weren't helped by the fact that Lawson had brought out his dress uniform for the occasion. But Doctor Tom Blake had been the police surgeon for many years and Lawson felt it only appropriate that he received that courtesy.

The crowd was starting to thin out a bit as people finished eating and started to make their farewells. Lawson looked at his watch; it was probably time for him to leave as well.

"Ah, Matthew, just the person," said Jean.

"Jean," said Lawson, smiling warmly. "I was just about to leave."

"Have you said hello to the Doctor yet?" asked Jean, "Didn't you say you were at school with him."

"That was a long time ago," said Lawson, "Doubt he remembers me. But I'll pay my respects before I go."

"Well there's no time like the present," said Jean. "Come with me, I'll introduce you."

Before Lawson could reply, Jean had taken him by the arm and was gently but firmly steering him through the crowd to the far side of the room where Blake was standing.

"Doctor Blake," said Jean, "There's somebody here you should meet. This is Chief Superintendent Lawson."

"Superintendent," said Blake.

"Doctor," said Lawson, shaking Blake's outstretched hand.

"If you'll excuse, Doctor, Superintendent," said Jean, "I just need to get another plate of sandwiches."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Doctor," said Lawson. "Tom Blake was a good man. Did a lot of good work for me as Police Surgeon. We'll miss him at Ballarat police station."

"Thank you," said Blake. "It's Matthew, isn't it? Ballarat West?"

"Wasn't sure you'd remember me," said Lawson, smiling. "It must be what, forty years now?"

"At least that," said Blake, returning the smile. "So you're the Chief Superintendent now. Well, I think we always knew you were going to join the police force. Following in your father's footsteps and all that."

"Looks like I wasn't the only one, *Doctor* Blake," said Lawson.

Blake shrugged dismissively, "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"Excuse me, Doctor Blake."
Lawson discreetly took a step back as a few people approached Blake and offered their sympathies. He watched as Blake shook hands, chatted briefly and then sent them on their way. Before he could resume his conversation, a few more people approached.

It was another ten minutes easily before there was a break in the crowd and Lawson was able to resume talking to Blake. "Listen, I should be going now, but I have a few bits and pieces at the station belonging to your father. Would you be able to call around to the station in the next day or so? Or I could call round some evening."

"Thank you, Superintendent, that would be most kind," said Blake. "And now I really must do my filial duty and circulate a bit." He took a drink from his cup, wishing he'd had the opportunity to add something stronger to it. "Once more unto the breach, dear friends."

"Once more," added Lawson. He watched as Blake started to work his way around the room, then he finished his cup and carried it out to the kitchen, where Jean was busy filling yet another plate with slices of cake. "Jean, just wanted to say goodbye, and thank you for a wonderful spread."

"Oh Matthew, you're welcome." Jean glanced through the doorway to the living room. "Did you get a chance to talk to Doctor Blake? About taking on the Police Surgeon's job?"

Lawson shook his head, "Too many people around, I'll speak to him about it in the next day or so. Are you even sure he's planning on sticking around in Ballarat? He hasn't been here for thirty years. Can't imagine he'd want to put down roots here now."

Jean sighed, "I don't know, and that's what worries me."

"Well I'll do what I can," said Lawson. "Good day, Jean."

The next day, Blake had planned to start the process of sorting through his father's personal papers. But Jean had interrupted him before he'd gotten too far, asking whether he'd mind seeing a few of his father's patients.

"I know you weren't planning on opening up the surgery today," said Jean, "But Nell Clasby phoned wondering if you could see her. Your father used to see her at least once a week. Would you mind?"

"No, no, it's fine," said Blake. "I'll take a quick look at her." After Nell Clasby had come Maura Jones, seeking a repeat prescription for her blood pressure medication. And by the time Blake had dealt with all the paperwork required, he felt he really deserved a cup of tea.

The post had just arrived as Blake wandered into the kitchen. Most of was letters to his father, which Blake put aside to be dealt with along with the rest of the paperwork. To his surprise, there was also a letter addressed to him which he quickly opened.

"Well fancy that, Jean," said Blake, holding the letter. "Ballarat hospital wants me to take my father's place on the board."

"Oh that's nice," said Jean, as she peeled another potato.

"Of course I'll have to respectfully decline," said Blake. "All the same, it is nice to be asked." He threw the letter on the table. "Or at least it would be if I thought they were offering it because of my qualifications as a Doctor, and not because of my father."

"Who says it can't be both?" asked Jean.

"Well in any event, it doesn't matter," said Blake. "I'll likely be out of here before they convene their first meeting."

There was a cry of pain from Jean as the knife cut into her hand.

"Jean!" Blake quickly took Jean and guided her to the sink where he held the hand under the cold tap. "Ah, doesn't look too bad. No, I don't think you'll need any stitches, and we might even be able to salvage the potatoes!"

Jean pulled her hand away, "So you're really going to leave Ballarat again?"

Blake nodded, "It's not my home. It hasn't been my home for over thirty years. There's nothing for me here."

"There's your father's practice. He built it up over fifty years. Are you going to just let it go?"

"His practice," emphasized Blake. "I'm not him."

Jean sighed heavily, "It just seems a shame, that's all," she said as Blake wrapped a clean cloth around her hand and guided her back to her chair. "All your father's hard work. His legacy. It just seems like a shame that it's all going to be dismantled overnight."

"Well hardly overnight," said Blake. "I mean, it looks like I'll have to keep the practice open, at least until all the patients have been transferred to other Doctors. And it'll take some time to get the house ready to put on the market. I do hope that you'll stay on until then. Obviously though, if you manage to find another job before the house is sold, I won't stand in your way."

"I will stay," said Jean, "Thank you." She let Blake bandage her hand and didn't protest when he offered to finish peeling the potatoes. "Just make sure you don't take off too much," she said. "I'm not having half the potato ending up in the slop bucket!"

"I'll have you know that I am an expert with sharp implements," said Blake as he picked up the knife. "Although this is no scalpel, but I'm sure I can manage."

Jean forced a smile on her face. "Well," she thought, "It's a start at least. Maybe after a few weeks running the practice, he'll rethink his options."

Later that night, Jean's words came back to Blake. His father's legacy...it was a good one for the most part. He'd been well respected in the community, had built up and maintained a successful medical practice, had a seat on the hospital board. All in all, the only negative thing about his legacy was the ungrateful son who'd wanted to travel the world instead of returning home after his medical training, to join him in practice.

"And what of my own legacy," thought Blake as he poured himself another drink. "A few years in the army, a few more years as an unofficial information gatherer." After *he* died, who would there be to mourn him, what would he have to show for his life. A wife and child who could well be already dead? Blake emptied his glass and then refilled it. "What's the point of staying here?" thought Blake as he raised the glass to his lips. Then he hesitated, "What's the point of leaving?" The thought shook him and he put the glass down heavily on the desk, spilling some of the liquid. It was true though, while there wasn't a lot to keep him in Ballarat, there was even less to draw him away. Mr. Kim could correspond with him in Ballarat as easily as he could in Melbourne or Sydney or Singapore.

Blake finished the glass and had another one for good measure. There was no need to commit to anything right now. He'd sleep on the matter, hold a surgery in the morning and then just see how things played out. "A few weeks of small town life," he told himself, "I'll probably be bored out of my mind."

It was two days after the funeral when Lawson showed up with a bottle of whisky. "Evening, Doctor. Thought we could raise a glass to your old man."

"Why not," said Blake. "Do come in Superintendent."

The glasses were soon raised in honour of Doctor Tom Blake and then just as quickly emptied. By the time they'd been filled and raised a second time, they had dispensed with formalities and become 'Blake' and 'Lawson'.

"I do like a man who has good taste in drink," said Blake, refilling the glasses again.

"You can blame your father for that," said Lawson, taking a mouthful from his glass. "He gave me a bottle of this when I made Superintendent here. He was a good man, patient enough with a wet behind the ears copper who nearly threw up the first time he saw a dead body. Bloody good Police Surgeon as well." Lawson sighed, "He's left some big shoes to fill."

"So people keep telling me," said Blake, knocking back the glass. He refilled his own and held the bottle out to Lawson, who shook his head.

"Of course now I've got to find a replacement," said Lawson. He cleared his throat before continuing, "Don't supposed that'd be something that'd interest you?" Lawson swirled the liquid around in his glass and studied it with deliberate nonchalance.

Blake looked at him suspiciously. There seemed to be a constant run of people providing him with reasons to stay in Ballarat. If he didn't know better, he'd have suspected some sort of conspiracy. "Well I don't really know, Lawson. It's not something I have much experience with."

"Neither did your father before he started. It's pretty straightforward. We get a dead body on our patch, you take a look at it, tell me how they died. Write up a report; maybe testify at an inquest or two. It won't take up much of your time; you can still keep a practice going as well."

"And why would you even want to hire *me*?" asked Blake. "You know nothing about me...except of course who my father was." His tone was sharper than he'd intended.

Lawson shrugged, "I know that you're a qualified Doctor so you're not likely to faint at the sight of blood. And if you're half the man your father was, you'd be all right by me." He deliberately made the words sound like a challenge. "I also know that you come with impeccable references."

"Oh yes, and just who would they be from?" asked Blake.

"Your father," said Lawson before knocking back what was left of his drink. "He was proud of you. Thought you'd turned out all right. I always respected his professional judgement on the job. Don't see any reason to question it now." He held out his glass and Blake refilled it automatically.

"In all honesty, Lawson," said Blake. "I hadn't really considered settling down in Ballarat." He took a sip from his glass. "But if you are in need of somebody to fill the post, I suppose I could always take it on...as a temporary measure. At least until I get my father's estate sorted out, or you find a permanent replacement."

Lawson smiled, "I'll put through the paperwork in the morning." He looked at his watch, "And now I should really be going."

"One last drink before you go," said Blake, quickly topping up both their glasses.
Holding up his glass, Blake said "To nepotism!"

"Blake!" said Lawson, frowning.

"Sorry," said Blake, without a trace of remorse, "To...my father, may I be half the police surgeon he was."

"To Tom Blake," said Lawson, as he clinked glasses with Blake. They drank in silence before Lawson finally stood.

"Welcome to the Ballarat police force, Doctor Blake," said Lawson, holding out his hand. "I hope you won't find the place too dull after all your travels."

"Thank you Superintendent Lawson," said Blake, shaking Lawson's hand. "But perhaps a little bit of monotony is what I need right now."

Blake shut the door behind Lawson and returned to his study for another drink. "Ah yes, a nice quiet life in Ballarat for the next few months. Just what the doctor ordered."

The end